


(my heart could not be contained in my chest) once it belonged to you

by majesdane



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesdane/pseuds/majesdane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Well, I'm glad at least one thing belongs to me, Emily says.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	(my heart could not be contained in my chest) once it belonged to you

 

 

how soon country people forget. when they fall in love with a city it is forever,  
and it is like forever. as though there never was a time when they didn't love it.

\-- _toni morrison_

 

 

 

**thirty-seven.**

They cycle out to the lake.

They could drive, but it's nicer to ride their bikes, if only for the nostalgia factor. Every year they've cycled out to this lake, so even if this year they don't really feel like doing it, they do it anyway. Because if they didn't, things wouldn't be right; it's something they know innately, without actually knowing, and they both laugh when Emily climbs up onto her bike, manages to wobble forward a couple of meters before promptly jumping off so as not to _fall_ off. There is a certain kind of comfort that comes from knowing that after so much has changed, there are tiny things that have remained constant, no matter what.

It doesn't start out as a tradition, but it becomes one, just like any event that's well-loved and worth remembering does. And after that it becomes even more than that; it becomes something that is almost second nature to them, when, in bed, Naomi says, Early summer this year, I think, and Emily knows exactly what she means, without Naomi even having to explain it. It is routine, but in the good way, because in some ways Emily thinks that their whole lives have been centred around this one place, this one day.

Riding down the path feels like coming home again, in a strange way, and maybe it makes sense, Emily thinks, even as she grips the handlebars a bit tighter, coasting alongside Naomi, who has her head thrown back, laughing at the way Emily still can't manage to keep from weaving all over the road in an attempt to stay upright. It isn't where everything started, but it's where everything _changed_. It was where they became a _we_ and an _us_ , instead of just Emily Fitch and Naomi Campbell. It wasn't where everything started, but rather, where everything began. It was the beginning of happiness.

It never changes, does it? Naomi asks, when they finally get to the lake, leaning their bikes against a tree and dropping their bags to the ground. Every year I expect us to come here and find it changed. But it's always the same. Even after everything else has changed, this just stays the same.

I like it, Emily says, standing by the water, and she smiles as Naomi comes up behind her, wrapping her arms around Emily's waist. She nuzzles against Emily's neck; Emily can feel the way Naomi's lips curve upward, pressed against her skin. I like that it's always stayed like this. How, in a way, it's always been our place. It doesn't belong to anyone else but us.

So possessive, Naomi says, teasingly, and Emily turns in her arms and cups Naomi's face in her hands. And kisses her, laughing.

 

 

 

**twenty-five.**

At twenty five, Emily likes waking up in the morning before Naomi does; likes being able to kiss her awake, grinning into her mouth. There is a certain novelty that comes from watching Naomi's eyes flutter slowly open, and even after all this time, it still makes Emily's heart turn over slowly in her chest. She doesn't care if Naomi has morning breath or if her hair's not perfect or if she's always a bit grumpy before she's had her coffee, because really, the imperfections, the worst parts of Naomi, those are the things she loves best of all.

I want it to be like this forever, Naomi says, one arm draped lazily around Emily's waist. Just like this.

What, in bed? Emily laughs.

No, Naomi says suddenly and stares at her with blue eyes that remind Emily of careless summers spent lying in gardens on impossibly green grass staring up at a cloudless sky. No, she says again. Not in bed.

(Oh.)

( _Oh._ )

The blood in her veins turns to slush and everything moves so much slower, all of a sudden, and she knows what she wants to say, but she can't actually seem to find the words to say it -- and even if she did, her mouth wouldn't be able to form the words -- so instead she just kisses Naomi. And Naomi kisses her back, and Emily can only think:

You, always.

 

 

 

**seventeen.**

That's my favourite thing, Emily says. That I get to kiss you whenever I like.

 

 

 

**thirty-one.**

Emily takes off her ring before she jumps into the lake, because she's so afraid of losing it.

Come on, she says, and splashes Naomi, standing uncertainly on the bank, still completely dressed. Come in -- I promise it's not as cold as it was last year. She splashes Naomi again and Naomi jumps back, glaring at her a little, but it just makes Emily laugh.

She reaches up, grabs Naomi's hand, and pulls her into the water clothes and all, in one fluid motion. She swims forward, puts her hands on the sides of Naomi's face. Kisses away the scowl there. Pulls away, grinning. Watches a bead of water rolls down the side of Naomi's cheek, like a tear.

I hate you, Naomi says.

Well, I don't mind, Emily tells her.

Even now, her heart still skips a beat every time Naomi kisses her.

 

 

 

**twenty-eight.**

Well, I'm glad at least _one_ thing belongs to me, Emily says, and Naomi pulls her in ever closer, grips the edges of Emily's jacket, and kisses her so lightly that it feels like she isn't being kissed at all. Sometimes, Emily isn't sure which part of her is herself and which part of her is Naomi.

When Emily touches Naomi, strokes her fingers along the soft curve of Naomi's hip it feels, almost, as if she is touching herself; when they kiss, Emily can't help but think that she's kissing herself back; simply, she has always felt like they are only just extensions of each other. She tries to think of a _before_ : before Naomi, before love, before drug-fuelled parties, broken hearts, lonely nights, and kisses in the rain, and she realizes, there is no _before_ and there is no _after_. There is just her and Naomi, always; they have always been tied to one another.

It is, simply, this: they are together like glue and hands.

 

 

 

**eighteen.**

I missed you, Emily says.

I missed _us_ , Naomi says, and her words close around Emily's heart like a fist.

 

 

 

**nineteen.**

Let's go to the lake when we get back, Emily says, when they're sat in Logan Airport waiting for their flight back to England. The afternoon sun slips through the windows and glows around Naomi's head like a halo. She wants to kiss Naomi, suddenly -- or not so suddenly; she always wants to kiss Naomi -- but instead she reaches for Naomi's hand and knits their fingers together.

Can't believe we've been gone almost a whole year, Naomi says. I wonder how much has changed or disappeared all together while we were gone.

Emily puts her head on Naomi's shoulder, strokes her thumb across the back of Naomi's hand.

Nothing I couldn't already live without, she says.

 

 

 

**twenty-nine.**

Emily says, Let's tell my mum about us tonight at dinner.

Your mum will throw a fit when she finds out, Naomi says, standing in front of the mirror in the bedroom, struggling with her tie. Emily watches her from the bed with eyes still heavy and a brain still fuzzy from sleep and sex, amused at the way Naomi glares at her reflection in the mirror, yanking the knot loose with a muttered curse and starting all over again. I haven't had to deal with these things since before college, she says, annoyed.

Come here, Emily says, let me. When she finishes tying it, she laces her fingers around the tie and pulls Naomi in for a kiss. You know, she says, when Naomi's on her knees on the bed, on either side of Emily's thighs, this is always how I imagined kissing you when I was younger. Pulling you in by your tie. Sitting on the edge of the bed with you, like this. In my head, it was lovely.

Naomi smirks. And now?

Now, Emily says, presses her cheek against Naomi's chest; her shirt is fresh from the dryer, warm, and smelling slightly of lilac washing power. Now, I couldn't even explain it if I wanted to.

Naomi catches Emily's hand, brings it to her mouth. Kisses her palm, wrist, her ring. Emily feels like she's drowning, and maybe she is, because the air is so heavy that she can barely even breathe. She wraps her arms around Naomi's waist and hugs her so tightly that she thinks maybe in the morning there'll be bruises. At least then Naomi would be able to see for herself just exactly what she does to Emily.

And Emily'll kiss it all better, of course, lying in bed tangled in blankets and off-white sheets that smell like rain and smoke and make her think of unwavering hopefulness. She'll press Naomi to the bed and stroke her hair and make love to her so slowly and carefully that it will feel like the world is ending.

We're going to be late, Naomi says. Kisses the top of Emily's head.

No. We've still got plenty of time.

 

 

 

**fifteen.**

I know you, Naomi says.

Yeah, Emily says, swaying a bit from too much vodka. Yeah, of course, we're in some of the same classes together. Like, History. She doesn't know how they ended up upstairs, in someone else's bedroom and on someone else's bed. Right now all she's aware of is the fact that Naomi Campbell is actually here, in front of her. Sitting down. And her bottle-blond hair is falling into her blue, blue eyes, and all Emily wants to do is lean forward and brush it away.

So she does. And then Naomi sort of speaks, but she doesn't really, and Emily can't see a reason _not_ to, so she leans forward and presses their lips together. She's met with hesitation, at first, but then Naomi, for the slightest of moments, relaxes and pushes back into the kiss, her hand settling lightly on Emily's knee. In the background, Emily can hear the sounds of the party downstairs and she knows, that really, she shouldn't be doing this.

But all Emily can think is: I am kissing Naomi Campbell.

And Naomi Campbell is kissing me back.

 

 

 

**sixteen.**

Can we go somewhere? Anywhere.


End file.
